Snotty-Nosed Brat

I was a challenging kid. I was often withdrawn, played with my toys a lot, was moody and emotional, and I could throw a temper tantrum like no one else. I was sensitive and awkward and had learned whether through nature or nurture to avoid conflict. Sure, I was bullied at school, but I was in the middle rungs of the social ladder. I often found it easier to get along with my teachers than my peers and I had a good rapport with most of them.

While I might’ve been sheltered and quiet, I still had friends. At that time, the person I was closest with was my brother. I looked up to him and he seemed so cool. He was taller and three years older and had better clothes and played with less-babyish toys. We did a lot together, I’m not sure if it was because my mother made him take me with him or not. I’m not sure if he ever was bitter towards me during those days; was I just is snotty-nosed little brother that was being forced on him when he just wanted to hang out with his friends.

The truth was that he was lower on the social ladder than I was. I didn’t understand it at the time but he was getting more anxious and frustrated. At first he left the elementary school we went to together. It was fine because he was just in the building next door; a Public education as opposed to a Catholic one.

He then was moved to a school further away. While I didn’t seem him during the day, he still came home at night and we watched stupid cartoons together. He still seemed different. His bullying had been much worse than the type I was use to. He wasn’t happy. He was getting attacked physically, emotionally, and mentally because kids are dicks.

I don’t remember a lot when my brother shipped off to another city to live with his dad. He was my half-brother but that didn’t matter; we were still super close and best friends.

This arrangement made me really sad. I remember feeling that weight of unwanted change and confusion as what was going on. I wonder if I was too much of the snotty-nosed little brother. Literally at times as I had allergies that, to this day, I have never had checked out or diagnosed. I remember crying in my room, surrounded by plastic, mesh bins with all the toys they held dumped on the floor. My be-muscled wrestling figures and cartoon characters with irregular poses and pirate Lego figurines were little comfort for my tears.

I felt separated from my family, literally and figuratively. I withdrew further into my head. It was safer in there and I could control my daydreams. I imagined the mazes I could create, the rube golbergian layers that I could run, the video game worlds I could explore. I doodled and imagined while the world went on.

At school, I was now in classes considered to be much more mature. I was growing up and my peers were growing out of childish games and toys and action figures and dolls. They were moving into the awkward tween years. I still was immature and guarded. They wanted to change and grow and be more social but I didn’t want anything to change.

I don’t remember if there were trees or much vegetation around the Annex. I remember the cold walks there during the winter from the main school building. This chunk of classes was indexed into the bottom of an apartment building and was cramped and drafty. I hated being away from my brother. I hated being away from the school, especially since my new teacher was a mustachioed menace-buster.

Mr. K wanted to project authority and maturity. He didn’t have time for childish games or talking or any kind of enjoyment at all in his class. His haircut, while not a military buzz, had the same feeling of someone who was uniformed and about respect and placement. He walked up and down the aisles while reading out of text books to make sure that we were all paying attention. He made up gimmicky surprise tests that were supposed to actually give us life lessons that we’d never forget. One said ‘read the entire test in full before answering’. I got bored and scribbled in a few answers. I finally read until the end and saw the unnecessary mind game. ‘Do not fill out any answers of this test or you will fail.’ That was the last sentence.

I didn’t feel like filling out much in terms of work and homework anyway. I was struggling at this point. I wasn’t sure how to let out my emotions and my mind wandered even more and I found it almost impossible to pay attention. This did not sit well with Mr. K and his petty and narrow teaching style. Being stern and disciplined was the answer. There was no room for empathy or understanding. He was in charge.

Needless to say this made me quite nervous. I’d say stupid things around him and found it difficult to make eye-contact. This painted an even bigger target on my back. I was malfunctioning as a student and he didn’t have time to deal with that shit.

On a fateful day in December, I trudged through the snow to the annex. We walked single file in puffy, colorful snowsuits and heavy boots. We passed townhouses that had so many stairs leading up to them that it seemed like they were on top of Mt. Olympus. Going back now as an adult, everything seems so small. That walk that felt like it took 20 minutes was actually doable in 5. The endless steps to the houses were actually less than 20. I did notice that I still had the sniffles in that area. I must’ve been allergic to something.

I was sucking up snot on the day in question. It was most likely due to the snow, the temperature, and the awkward sweat I get from any kind of exercise with heavy clothes on. I had tissue packs that my mother always made me take in my coat pocket. I used the last one before I went into class. In the narrow hallway before the room, Mr. K stood diligently eyeing all of us as we went in. The ceiling there was low and sloped upward like those walls in an attic. This why-are-you-a-teacher-if-you-hate-kids teacher was short enough so he had to only tilt his head down a little.

I got in the door and struggled to get my winter clothing off, especially since the annex had a tendency to trap heat. I could feel the disapproving stares from Mr. K. I was struggling with my boot and the other students trying to get in were blocked and getting impatient. They started yelling at me to hurry. This made me even more nervous. However, it was the loud yet always disappointed command from the teacher that really put a sword through me.

I got off all of my stuff but I was crying. I was dribbly, and wet-faced and just not having it that day.

“Leif, what’s wrong with you. Stop crying and go sit at your desk.”

I was too upset to understand what was going on. The other students and the entire classroom was blurry through my tears.

“Stop being silly! Get to your desk now.”

I started stumbling around in a leaking haze. My forehead was pouring with sweat and my nose was letting mucous escape. I needed something, someone to comfort me. I was young and scared and acting out because of the loss of my brother in my daily life.

This is what I tell myself when I think about what happened next.

Mr. K had me go to the principal’s office. There were a lot of meetings with him, other faculty members, my mother, and psychologists. I had been targeted as disturbed by this short, asshole and it was up to others to fix me.

I was diagnosed with ADHD. My mother was pushed to put me on Ritalin but this was the 90s and that particular drug had a bad track record. She loved and supported me and helped me get through that difficult period.

It’s only been recently, in my mid-thirties, that I understand the impact of that diagnosis has had on my life and how this inattention, lack of focus, and withdrawn behaviour stems from something that I do actually have. I pushed it down deep due to the scarring of the entire ordeal. It’s cost me a lot over the next three decades.

I went back to class and was able to make it through grade 4 without any other craziness. Mr. K wore a boring beige blazer instead of the brown one he wore on that awful day.

I know I shouldn’t have used him as a hankie for my snotty nose, but he was no better than a discarded tissue. He made me feel like a worthless, literal snotty-nosed brat, and that embarrassment sticks to this day.